mains et pieds bien au chaud

to the lighthouse

... "And that's the end," she said, and she saw in his eyes, as the interest in the story died away in them, something else take its place; something wondering, pale, like a reflection of light, which at once made him gaze and marvel. Turning, she looked across the bay, and and there, sure enough, coming regularly across the waves first two quick strokes and then one long steady stroke, was the light of the Lighthouse. It had been lit. In a moment he would ask her, "Are we going to the Lighthouse?" And she would have to say "No: not tomorrow; your father says not." Happily, Mildred came in to fetch them,and the bustle distracted them. But he kept looking back over his shoulder as Mildred carried him out, and she was certain that he was thinking, we are not going to the Lighthouse tomorrow; and she thought, he will remember that all his life. ...


Woolf

relevant

Sylvia Plath get out of my heart

"August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time."

Sylvia Plath

50 poems, no. 12

(will you teach a

wretch to live

straighter than a needle)

ask

    her

         ask

              when

                   (ask and

                    ask

                    and ask

again and)ask a 

brittle little

person fiddling

in

the

rain

(did you kiss

a girl with nipples

like pink thimbles)

ask

     him

          ask

               who

                   (ask and

                   ask

                   and ask

ago and)ask a

simple

crazy

thing

singing

in the snow

- e e cummings

Joni Mitchell, Carnegie Hall, 1972

Ultimate crys forever, just gonna leave this here.